


Anamnesis

by fatalchild



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:53:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatalchild/pseuds/fatalchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crushed by his guilt and the pain of Hell, Castiel hallucinates. Or he think he hallucinates. The image following him around isn't what he expected, but maybe his expectations were skewed.<br/>SRS2013 Bonus Round 3 -- Prompt: Patience; Hallucination!Lucifer is oddly patient with Castiel's increasing fear of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anamnesis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vesperify](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesperify/gifts).



“Hello, brother.”

Castiel had recoiled from him, jerked sharply across the room and pressed himself against the far wall, face contorted with fear. It was the expected reaction, but it didn’t soften the blow. The image on the bed was almost certainly not Lucifer, just a manifestation from Hell that wore his face, but he seemed to think he was Lucifer. Perhaps that was why Castiel hated him so much.

“You don’t deserve to look like him,” Castiel says softly, refusing to pull his eyes from a fleck of peeling paint in the corner.

Lucifer tilts his head, brows knitting together in a small frown. “How would you like me to look?”

“Like what you are.”

He’s thoughtful for a moment, nodding quietly before unfolding from the confines of his imagined vessel, stretching out immense wings and radiating beautifully cool light.

“Stop!” Castiel cries sharply.

And Lucifer does, confined in the visage of borrowed skin once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I thought that was what you wanted.

Castiel runs from the room.

***

The voices in his head keep him from any sort of peacefulness. Castiel’s mind is a chorus of murdered angels and screaming human souls. They curse him, blame him, degrade him to the point that he falls sobbing onto his bed and tries to hide under the thin, white hospital sheets.

“You shouldn’t listen to them,” Lucifer says softly.

“Please go away. Please.”

“Do you remember when you were young? Heaven was so beautiful then; everything was beautiful. You would come sit with me, and I would teach you how to sing the hymns to God. Your voice was--”

“Leave me alone!”

Castiel flees again, running out to the dayroom and huddling up under a table. He’s easily able to fend off the staff, and it takes hours to coax him out of hiding. When he finally returns to his room, Lucifer is gone. The screeching voices are not.

***

The line between fantasy and reality starts to blur. Castiel sleeps with an angel blade under his pillow because he knows they’re coming for him. He knows he deserves it too, but he’s afraid to die. His hand slides under the fabric, fingers curling around smooth metal, and he begins to wonder how quickly it’s all over, if maybe this time, it would stay quiet inside his head.

“Please don’t.”

“What do you care?”

“You’re my little brother.”

“You killed me.”

“I brought you back.”

“Liar. God did that.”

“Did you see God?”

“...No.”

“I don’t lie, Castiel.”

Castiel turns sharply away, shoulders hunched, blankets gathered up.

“I’m worried about you,” Lucifer whispers, and his fingers are cool when they brush through Castiel’s hair.

“Why?”

“I already told you why.”

Castiel turns his face into his pillow and chokes on a sob. “Don’t do this to me.”

“What am I doing?”

“Just leave. Just leave…”

“I worry about what you’ll do if left on your own.” Lucifer sighs. “Keep your back turned. I’ll be silent. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“Please…”

“Just let me watch over you.”

Castiel closes his eyes and says nothing. Lucifer doesn’t leave his side.

***

The world around him ceases to be white and drips with an inky blackness that seeps out of every line of the walls. It gathers around him in sickenly stagnant puddles that confine him to small corners for how he’s afraid to cross them. Then they’ll just be gone, evaporating into nothing, and Castiel will see Lucifer looking at him across the room, but the image of the archangel never speaks to him, not until Castiel does first.

“I hate you,” he whispers, staring out a barred window.

Lucifer frowns, looks up from where he’s poised on the desk. “I’m sorry?”

“I hate you,” Castiel says again, firmer now. “I hate that you look like him. I hate that you sound like him. I hate that you act like him. It’s not fair.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not supposed to be him,” he spits, turning sharply and staring with wet, red-rimmed eyes. “You’re supposed to be evil. You’re supposed to be a monster. You’re supposed to be this _thing_ spawned out of Hell that is nothing like my brother ever was.”

Lucifer purses his lips and tilts his head. “Now tell me, little brother, are you talking about the supposed devil or the supposed hallucination?”

Castiel’s lip curls, and he looks away again.

“Do you think I’m a monster?” Lucifer asks softly.

“They say you tortured Sam.”

“They say a lot of things.”

“I saw, felt how ruined his soul was.”

“Perhaps, but have I tortured you?”

Castiel doesn’t answer.

“Have I hurt you at all during this time, little brother? Have I given you any reason to believe all these things you were told?” Another beat of silence, and Lucifer nods solemnly. “That’s what I thought.”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare presume to know what I think of him. Don’t you dare presume to know what I--” Castiel spins, face twisting as he beats his fists against a surprisingly firm chest. “Get out of him!” he cries. “Stop looking like him. Stop talking like him. Stop reminding me!” He breaks into tears then, crumbling forward into arms that are simply waiting to catch him.

Lucifer holds him close, waiting silently until the sobbing subsides, gently brushing his fingers over the little curls at the nape of Castiel’s neck.

“I hate you,” he says once more.

“Tell me why.” 

Castiel looks up, bottom lip trembling as the last of his tears stain his cheeks. “Because you left me,” he whispers.

Lucifer nods. “And I am deeply, truly sorry.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“I understand, but I’m here now, little brother, and I am not leaving you.”

Castiel shakes his head, closing his eyes as Lucifer’s lips press his forehead.

“You’ll see,” Lucifer says softly, holding Castiel to his chest again. “I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere. One day, you’ll believe me.”

Months pass, and Lucifer keeps his word, stays at Castiel's side. Then, on a Sunday afternoon, in the soft glow of morning light, Castiel greets him with a smile.

“Hello, brother.”


End file.
